Too real
by smaugs-mommy
Summary: COMPLETE Frodo left for the grey havens and Sam cannot forget him


I uploaded the whole thing again , I hope those weird signs and letters are gone now.

Thanks to all those who reviewed! 

Rated PG13…just some wee pitiful hobbit suffering

Disclaimer: The lyrics are evanescence 's , Sam and Frodo are Tolkien's , the writing is mine and so is my bar of chocolate …sorry…:p…

There is also a tiny little quote from "into the west". I'm sure you will find it

 No slash, although I've been told by my cousin that it could be read as slash..well I did not mean it to sound slashy, I'm sorry

AN :Well, this is what happens when I spend my  evenings being depressed and listening  to the radio… 

Special thanks to Hobbit Lily Baggins 

**Too real**

Years have passed, seasons have changed and Sam is old now, even for a hobbit.

Wrinkles have carved themselves around his eyes and mouth, his hair is almost completely white and he would consider himself as  very pleased  with his life, if it was not for the sunsets. Sunsets bring back the memories of a time now long gone by. When he sits on the small stone bench in front of Bag End, when the warmth that has been captured in the stones is set free for the night Bag End _diminishes _

 in some way, and there are no roses or gardens or children anymore but  Oliphants, and Elves and kings. Melting pictures of another life, some beautiful beyond description, others cruel and dark. 

But there is one picture, which is more than mere memory. 

It is the picture that always comes with the sunsets. 

It is Frodo, handing him the red book, 

( the last pages are for you, Sam) 

his eyes turning gray in the twilight. Grey as the sea and gray as the shadow on the waters, which is the last Sam ever sees of Frodo. It has been sunset then, and it has been sunset when the rider brought a letter, written by Gandalf. He  told them not to weep, but they  wept, all off them, even little Elanor. 

I'm so tired of being here 

suppressed by all my childish fears 

_And if you have to leave _

_I wish that you would just leave _

_'cause your presence still lingers here_

_and it won't leave me alone_ __

Those thoughts hurt, for they are true. Sam has always loved his master and friend dearly  but he would rather forget him than having to know  that they will never meet again.

If Frodo was still alive he would not like Sam to be sad because of him. Being able to forget would be the best for both of them. 

Frodo left years ago, and yet he did not. Sam could not let go. Or was it Frodo, who was not able to leave? Is there still a part of his soul, helpless and lost like a child astray in a dark and forbidden forest? Is it begging them not to leave him alone? What is it that makes forgetting him an impossibility? 

His study has remained as it was and Rose still puts fresh flowers on the desk. When Elanor, now a beautiful  lady with a bunch of own children, comes to visit she will dust off all the surfaces in the study and wash the curtains. Sam has caught her standing in front of Frodo's cupboard and caressing an old cloak. Most of Frodo's clothes are still in that cupboard and even his pipe is lying on his bedside table where he left it  when he went. He did not take anything with him, except  for the clothes he was wearing that very day and Galadriel's  phial. Did he know that he would not need anything else?    

Sam sighs. How much he would like to follow. How much he would like Frodo to leave and be glad wherever the paths would lead his friend. How much he would like to forget.

But would he not be scared, if he woke up one morning and would not be able to recall his friend's face? Would he not be desperate to remember again?

Again, a sigh lifts his chest. It is night now, first stars sparkling shyly,  and a whippoorwill

( "whippoorwill is calling, somebody is dying" they used to say in the stories ) 

is calling.

Why do ghosts not fade? 

What is it that makes wounds unable to heal? 

_Where_ is it? 

It is in the fresh flowers on Frodo's desk, it is in the chair that has remained empty for so many years, and mostly it is in Sam's heart.

There may be no more footsteps in the early mornings, telling him that Frodo got up to surprise them all by making breakfast. No more singings in the bathroom, no more storys of Bilbo, Gollum and the Ring for Elanor. 

But Frodo is still there; deep in Sam's heart,  his sad blue eyes, his painfully innocent smile  and so many of his wise and friendly words.

Rose is standing in the threshold, her hair is white now, too. But it is still lively and curly and she still wears ribbons. Holfast, one of her grandsons is sitting on her shoulders, he  giggles and lifts one of his small hands. 

"Sam, come" he mumbles and Rose smiles. 

"Come in Sam" she calls softly, her voice dancing through the twilight like a weak butterfly. "Dinner is ready"  

"Coming, love" Sam says, but his own voice is distant, almost lost.  

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

This pain is just too real 

There is just so much that time cannot erase 

They have eaten and Rose is already fast asleep, one of Sam's hands is resting in her hair, the other one is hidden under the pillow. The blankets are embroidered with roses and lilies and although the colours have faded, they are still visible. And there is one flower, a blue lily, whose leafs spell 'Sam' if you turn the blanket upside down. It was Frodo, who " wanted to help Rose with the embroideries " .   All the flowers would be names if Rose had not lost her patience and sent Frodo "out to get some parsley". Sam smiles. Not everything had been bad, when Frodo lived with them. Not everything at all. 

Real roses with huge white and yellow heads are knocking softly against the window. 

Next year Sam wants to plant some red ones as well. 

 He still thinks of flowers when sleep closes around him like a different, thick and black blanket. 

But it is Frodo he is dreaming about. 

~flashback~ 

It is autumn, October.  Two years since the horrible evening on Wheatertop. 

The door to Frodo's study is half open, and there is no noise from within. 

Silently, Sam enters the room, walks through it without looking at anything and pulls away the curtains. The light shows him what he has feared to see. The book is lying on the floor. A bottle of ink has been shattered and Frodo is lying in his bed, pale as the moon.

As Sam lifts up the book he reads what Frodo has written at last.

How do you pick up the threads of an life?

He does not read on_.  'Poor Mr Frodo'_he thinks_. 'thinking that he will never fully heal._

He can't be right, can he?'

 Sam closes the book and places it back on the desk. Then he turns to Frodo, checking his pulse and temperature with gentle fingers. Frodo does not realize anything,   shaking with pain and tears are slowly flowing down his cheeks from under his eyelids. They are falling into his pointy ears, soaking his curls and leaving wet patches on the pillow.

Sam sits down at his side, takes his hands and tries to comfort his friend. "Don't weep" he kisses the maimed hand  carefully " your Sam is with you and he will always be." 

He does not know whether it is his words or his presence, but Frodo stops sobbing and wakes up. Guilt is reflected in eyes as he holds Sam's hands and says that he is sorry that he did not mean to wake him up. He did not wake anyone up, because it is not even midday. Sam leans forward and ruffles his friend's curls. _Don't be sorry. _There is no need saying these words. Frodo and Sam have known each other for so many years that words are not important any more. _Don't you ever be sorry Mr Frodo._

Eventually Frodo falls asleep in Sam's arms. 

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears 

I've held your hand through all of these 

_But you still have all of me_ __

Frodo never complains, never tells  anyone how much he is suffering under those anniversaries. But each time his illness starts earlier and lasts longer and leaves him more weakened than before. And after three years he starts to feel weak and sad even on normal days. The anniversaries become unbearable and although Frodo does his best to hide them from Sam, it is soon more than obvious that something is not right at all. When Sam tries to take care of him, to comfort him and to ease the pain. Frodo tells him not to come too near, until he is too ill to say anything. He is frightened and he does not trust himself anymore. 

And there are dreams showing him what is going to happen if he stays. All that is holding him in Bad End is Sam and his family. But he will destroy them, hurt them all, if he does not go away soon. So he finishes the red book, chooses the hour of his own death and leaves for the Grey Havens. The last he sees is a veil of rain turning into silver glass and a green land under a swift sunrise. His last thought  - _Sam…._

~end of flashback~ 

Sam wakes up shuddering and moaning. Rose yawns and hugs her husband closely. "'tis all right" she falls asleep again while she is talking. " Frodo is fine, wherever he went…he is just fine" 

Is he? 

_You used to captivate me_ __

_By your resonating life_

_Now I'm bound_

_By the life you left behind_ __

_Your face, it haunts_ __

_My once pleasant dreams_ __

_Your voice, it chased away_ __

_All the sanity in me._ __

"You will have to be one and whole for many years" he has said and kissed Sam's brow. 

And Frodo has been right, as usual. Sam has lived a life full of joy and happiness and those wrinkles are good wrinkles, from talking and laughing a lot. He has remained one and whole, but he could not forget. He still imagines Frodo sitting in the chair where the light is best, ink and another quill  beside him, listening to the birds and  writing into the red book. He always imagines him being somewhere; outside doors, in the part of the pantry where it is too dark to see properly, in the thick shadows at the top of the steps leading into the cellar_.  _

But Frodo is not there. 

He has not been there all those years. 

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you are gone_

_But though you are still with me_ __

_I've been alone all along._

When Sam lies awake until long after midnight, he hopes that it is but a dream, a nightmare. The next morning he will wake up and Frodo will be there, safe in his arms, sleeping peacefully. But no,  he will not be there and reality is not a dream. And Sam knows. 

His own pain is much too  real, too.__

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_ __

_There is just so much that time cannot erase…_


End file.
